Saturday, November 8, 2014
Am An Usher And Proudly Daft
There was an era, when we used to go to functions and there was nobody at the door to check us in, so we just walked in. Then somebody – Sylvia Owori I think, came up with the idea of having ushers lining the entrance to a function to give it a Hollywood feel and also to check you in.
Suddenly young women all wanted to be ushers – regardless of shape, size and physical attraction. “All I have to do is stand about, smile for a couple of hours and get 50k” so I am sure they told themselves.
Things have changed since then. Usher of today detests being called an usher. She prefers to be called a glamour girl and I have no problem with that. However, while they may be glamorous, one thing they all have in common, is that they are daft. Yes you read it - daft! They are stupid, lack common sense and live a life that revolves round wanting to be seen in Kampala Sun newspaper, Chicken Tonight, 2k airtime for Whatsapp, V&A and telling Boda Man to drop them 200 meters from the function so that nobody sees them riding a boda.
Organiser had taken the trouble to call me and apologise for not having delivered my invitation card and that I should not worry because my name was on the guest list at the entrance which, was cool with me. When I turned up at the function, this is what unfolded.
Glamour Girl: “Do you have an invitation?”
TB: “I don’t have a physical invitation, but Organiser says my name is on the guest list.”
Glamour Girl: “So what are you calling you?” – (Perhaps she meant to say: “What is your name?)
TB: “Timothy. Timothy Bukumunhe.”
She goes through the list twice then looks up and says: “I can’t find you name.” Hmm. “Are you sure” I ask her. Nervously, she says it might be on the other list. I had seen my name on her list because Organiser had listed all names in alphabetical order by surname with the surname upper cased. Glamour Girl on the other hand, was looking for Timothy and not BUKUMUNHE, Timothy. To make matters worse, the ‘other list’ was a mere photocopy of the one she had so still she wouldn’t have found my name.
When I suggested she look under BUKUMUNHE, she gave me a, ‘are telling me how do my job’ look followed by a frown. But she complied. When she saw my name, her face lit up and cast a look that read – “Yikes, how did you do that!”
At another function, an army of workers had been deployed the remove every small blemish from the 100 meter long VIP red carpet. We all acknowledged the work Workmen were doing and to get from one side of the carpet to the other, we all jumped over it regardless of our positions.
An hour before the function was due to start, Glamour Girl comes waltzing down the carpet in mivumba heels that her Matugga feet had yet to master and very oblivious to the mess she was leaving behind and the fact the everybody else was jumping over the carpet which, infuriated Workmen.
Workman: “Nyabo, who do you think you are? Can’t you see everybody jumping over the carpet? Look at the mess you have made.”
Her look of distain was for World Cup. It read: ‘You stupid didn’t-go-to school workman’ was worthy of an Oscar accolade. And to make sure Workman really did appreciate the Oscar performance, as she trumped off, with more than a touch of sarcasm in her voice, she said: “But can’t you see I am Glamour Girl!?”
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